starry skies swiftly fall ● a wincest fanmix
my chemical romance, ‘summertime’
terrified of what I’d be
as a kid from what I’ve seen
every single day when people try
and put the pieces back together
just to smash them down
turn my headphones up real loud
i don’t think I need them now
‘cause you stop the noise
placebo, ‘running up that hill’
there is thunder in our hearts, baby.
so much hate for the ones we love
tell me, we both matter, don’t we?
you and me won’t be unhappy
garbage, ‘#1 crush’
i will pray for you, i will pray for you
i will sell my soul for something pure and true
someone like you
p!nk, ‘please don’t leave me’
i forgot to say out loud how beautiful you really are to me
i can’t be without you, you’re my perfect little punching bag
and i need you, i’m sorry
portishead, ‘all mine’
from that cloud, number nine
danger starts the sharp incline
and such sad regrets
ohh as those starry skies, as they swiftly fall
make no mistake, you shan’t escape
tethered and tied, there’s nowhere to hide from me
mazzy star, ‘into dust’
it was you, breathless and tall
i could feel my eyes turning into dust
and two strangers
turning into dust
lisahall, ‘is this real?’
twisted this feeling
flesh, blood, bone, love
twisted, twisted this feeling
and i know, yes i know, but is this real?
dead man’s bones, ‘young & tragic’
i wish that we were magic
so we wouldn’t be so young and tragic
‘when you find me’, joshua radin
my only weakness is knowing your secrets
and holding them close and hold them tight
i know the way to silently make you smile with my eyes when you’re trying to fight
can’t you see that when i find you, i’ll find me
‘miracle’, the temper trap
feeble, tiny hands bound for greatness
you will rise and fall like the rest of us
love will keep you up, and always be the crutch
that will see you through to the very last
and i may not always believe, but you’re nothing short of a miracle
‘springsong’, tom milsom
little sun, it’s hard to forget you every time we let you in again
stuck between, always being too old, and then when you get old
it’s wrong again
and you’re real, you’re real, you’re real life
‘come home’, james
the way i feel just makes me want to scream
“come home, come home, come home”
‘hurts like heaven’, coldplay
see the arrow that they shot, trying to tear us apart
take the fire from my belly and the beat from my heart
still I won’t let go
you use your heart as a weapon, and it hurts like heaven
‘let your love grow tall’, passion pit
in pastures blue and green, i’ll follow you and you’ll follow me
i’ll wave your loyalty in the freezing breeze so desperately
they’d say “let your love grow tall”
‘love lost’, the temper trap
our love was lost, but now we’ve found it
our love was lost, and hope was gone
and if you flash your heart, i won’t deny it
‘the writer’, ellie goulding
you change your position
and you’re changing me
casting these shadows
where they shouldn’t be
‘someone else’s life’, joshua radin
somehow i’m leading someone else’s life
i cut a star down with my knife
and right now, i still see the way the moon plays this tune
though our lights died
‘love is blindness’, u2
love is clockworks and cold steel
fingers too numb to feel
squeeze the handle, blow out the candle
love is blindness
a little death without mourning, no call and no warning
baby, a dangerous idea that almost makes sense
‘the escape artist’, richard walters
tie my hands behind my back
i’ll close my eyes and think of england
bring the sack down, pull the ropes round
push me into crates and boxes
as you always do
make me famous, as i need you to
‘fall to earth’, glass pear
darling, be afraid
everyone you love will be taken away
and that day, that day will come
as surely as your birth
The first few weeks after Scott and Allison break up are insufferable. Really it’s Scott who’s insufferable, but Stiles isn’t the type to hold grudges against his painfully single best friend, especially not when Scott cranks up the puppy eyes to eleven and then promptly bursts into tears.
No, grudges wouldn’t help at all.
It’s July and there’s a mini-heatwave, so they’ve set up this giant yellow umbrella in the middle of Stiles’ back yard and they’re sitting underneath it, eating popsicles out of a mini cooler Stiles’ dad has rolled out for them. Stiles’ patience is wearing thin and with an eyeroll he thinks that if this isn’t some sort of divine test for his fortitude, he doesn’t know what is.
“… and that’s when her dad knocked on the door and thank God he didn’t come in because if finding us in a car in the woods made him almost kill me, I don’t even know what walking in on us in the shower would’ve done to him, or me—wow, I’ve been really lucky in my life, haven’t I? I mean I met Allison and she went out with me and…”
Scott’s voice trails off and Stiles is knocked out of his strawberry popsicle reverie by the dangerous sound that is his friend sniffling, because—yep, there he goes, crying again. ‘Oh, goody,’ Stiles thinks with exasperation, but really a piece of his heart breaks every time he sees Scott like this, so he does the first thing that pops in his head.
“Hey, Scott,” he says, and Scott looks at him and his face morphs from depressed to confused to snorting with amusement in less than three seconds, because yes, Stiles’ nose is red, and yes that is Stiles’ tongue on his nose, and that’s a skill he’s proud of because it’s awesome, thank you very much. He does that wiggly thing with the tip of his nose as well, and that just gets strawberry popsicleness smeared all over it, and that smells so good and it makes Stiles want another strawberry popsicle stat.
Scott is laughing now and wiping the tears from his eyes—could even be laughter tears, or at least Stiles hopes it is—and he isn’t talking about Allison anymore, so points, Stilinski. Sometimes it’s minutes before Scott lapses into it again by default, and sometimes it’s hours, but either way Stiles will always be there to shake him out of it with something ridiculous, until it’s time to do it all over again.
The cooler empties within the next hour and Stiles’ stomach feels absolutely vile, but damn if those weren’t the most delicious popsicles he’s ever had.
Why is lighthearted stuff so difficult to write omg D:
also, Quiet Me turned out to be something I might have to use in one of my ongoing fics. Nice prompt, Ria, thanks :) [although, apologies for the angst.]
“Shit. Shit shit shit.“
The warehouse is empty so everything echoes: Derek’s muttered curses, his boots shuffling on the dusty ground, rainwater dripping onto the tin roof overhead, wind making the walls sway and creak—and Stiles’ sobs, loud and rumbling and heartbreaking, reverberating on every surface.
Derek has never felt so helpless before. He has to fight back a morbid chuckle as he thinks that he could lose his family all over again, he could lose Laura or have to kill Peter all over and rip open the wounds of his profound loneliness, anything over the devastating sound and sight of this kid bawling his heart out, retching and heaving and sobbing while his eyes pour more and more tears on his streaked face. He’s doubled over in the corner, curled into a ball, and he cries, he cries, and Derek has no idea what to do.
Then he remembers all the times he was in a dark place and Stiles brought him back. And then he knows.
“Hey,” he whispers, hand tentatively reaching for Stiles’ shivering form. “Stiles, hey.” He kneels beside him, eyes wide and searching, hands close but not touching, voice low and kind.
Stiles’ sobs grow no quieter—at least not until Derek places a warm, steady hand on Stiles’ shoulder, thumb softly tracing the curve of Stiles’ neck. Derek can feel the boy shudder under his touch, and the crying goes on for a while, but as the seconds tick by Stiles’ breaths get deeper and his sobs softer, until he’s left a snuffling mess, head still hung low and hidden behind gangly arms and bent knees, Derek’s hand still firm on him.
He feels so goddamn responsible, so damn at fault for all of this, that it takes all the self-control and anchoring in Derek’s power not to wolf out completely and wreck not just this warehouse, but this entire fucking town.
‘A bit too late for that’, he muses.
Stiles looks up eventually, eyes red, nose swollen. He looks into Derek’s eyes pleadingly, and Derek can feel the despair and the misery and the grief and he hates himself for what he’s about to say but he says it anyway, because he must. Because there’s nothing else to say.
“We have to run.”
you mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.
scott mccall is a brilliant extractor on the run from the law, tormented by guilt over his wife allison’s death. he takes one last case, the one that will take him home: top multinational ceo jackson whittemore wants his best friend and rival danny mahealani to change his mind about a deal that will make him (and cost jackson) millions. scott gathers an elite team: derek hale, master forger; his best friend stiles, a brilliant point man able to find his way around any maze; an excitable young architect named isaac, who seems to have way too much insight into scott’s mind; and lydia martin, genius chemist (among other things). jackson, of course, tags along for the ride, as does scott’s projection of allison, who hunts them down with a deadly crossbow and every intention to wreak as much havoc as possible.
happy birthday amy rose ♥
the name is hale… derek hale.
in which derek is a top secret spy, and stiles is the bond girl.
happy birthday amy rose ♥
AVENGERS ASSEMBLE… at Starbucks. (Taken with Instagram)
Thor: me (stelenskeh)
Post-Marvel All Nighter breakfast of champions!